


Head Scratches

by Kittie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Drabble Request, but it's so cute im cry, the formatting is more tumblr than for ao3 but, this is fluffy and dumb and based on rp, this is like my prompt archive thing, tumblr prompt transfer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3786523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittie/pseuds/Kittie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The words sound far away; there’s a pressure in his temples that throbs with every beat of his pulse. It’s an agony he’s never bothered to tell anyone of sans Cassandra– but he caves, snapping at the mage, anger coloring his words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Scratches

**Author's Note:**

> this is a prompt transfer from tumblr. the formatting is wonky bc it is formatted for tumblr viewing. uh. yeah pretty much i'm sorry if that bothers people.

     The words sound far away; there’s a pressure in his temples that throbs with every beat of his pulse. It’s an agony he’s never bothered to tell anyone of sans Cassandra– but he caves, snapping at the Mage, anger coloring his words. 

     He had deflated immediately: apologies and explanations fell from his lips far faster than he cared to admit **(** _he stayed away from true reasoning but he did admit to a headache that felt as though his head would cave in at any moment_   **)**. Friends were hard to come by, he wouldn’t lose Dorian to a fit of incessant pain creating friction with pestering words. He was better than  _that_ , he was trying to be better than  _that_.

     He didn’t deserve the softening of Dorian retort, the sharp tongue easing to comfort. Cullen didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve the offer with green tinted green fingers.

     ‘ _I'm not the best healer but surely I could be of some assistance?_  ‘ Dorian had said with slow movements. The commander had little idea when he had arrived near him let alone pressed his hands against his furred mantle and pushed him down into a chair. The movement made the world swim and amber eyes clamp shut.

     A whispered curse fell from the Tevinter’s lips and Cullen opened his mouth to tell him not to worry– his sound was short lived as fingers touched temples and moved back. There was no sign of healing magic; only the dull scrape of nails against his scalp that left Cullen leaning more of his weigh into the aging chair.

     The blond could **see** the smirk, the twist of that impractically curled mustache without opening his eyes. He’s seen that look far too many times with his eyes open.

      **(**   _only, dorian’s face is marred with concern at how tense the commander is; wound up to snap himself in half at any moment_   **)**.

                    “  _F_ eeling a bit better? “

     No cocky fluctuation of his tone– Dorian is genuine in his question and Cullen finds his lips unable to form words. The pressure is there, under the caring touch of the Mage’s digits but not quite as bad. The buzzing has stopped, the throb is dulled. This is far better than any other alternative he’s attempted for these blighted headaches.

     Cullen replies with a soft noise and Dorian doesn't stop. The Mage doesn’t stop for what feels like _hours_ , he doesn’t stop even when Cullen feels like he’s drifting to sleep **(**   _a place that hasn’t felt so pleasant in many, many years_ **)**. He didn’t stop when Cullen fell asleep. 

     Dorian waits for the tension to ease from Cullen shoulders, the lines of worry on the commander’s face softening. There’s a strange–  ~~power~~ _feeling_  that such an image was caused by his hands.

     The man does little more than peek out to doors and tell messengers not to enter unless it’s urgent. Most look relieved that Cullen is taking a break for the first time in months  **(**   _dorian would frown at the idea but he’s spirited away their commander for chess and other idle time passers very rarely in recent moments the inquisitor does enjoy taking him out on missions, however he will rebel the next time she even things about sending him to hissing wastes_   **)**.

     A book is stolen from Cullen shelf as he stalks back to the perch the commander had allowed in his office. The mage nests in his corner  **(**   _affectionately named by some whispers that the commander has yet to fight– dorian isn’t sure he’ll ever fight the rumors, honestly_   **)** ; ready to be of service the moment cullen awakes.

     After all, the southerner is going to have a horrible crick in his neck and Dorian is certainly looking forward to having Cullen purring like a kitten under his fingers again.


End file.
